


McKirklets: a collection of ficlets and drabbles

by readithoney



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Drabbles, Ficlets, Love, M/M, Nonsense, Romance, no rules!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:23:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readithoney/pseuds/readithoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Add a generous amount of Jim Kirk. A heaping helping of Bones. Pour on the sugar. A twist of sour. Lots of spice. </p><p>Blend well. </p><p>Consume.</p>
            </blockquote>





	McKirklets: a collection of ficlets and drabbles

**Tradition Remission  
** **. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Dr. Leonard McCoy was, at his core, a traditionalist. He had values and beliefs and strong opinions based on indisputable facts. Why, then, he was hurtling through space on a seemingly endless kamikaze mission led by his genius, reckless, hapless husband, was well beyond his logical or emotional reckoning. Every day belonged to Jim, who would weave them in and out of dangerous situations, dragging them through hopeless scenarios and coming out relatively unscathed. Well not unscathed, but alive, for the most part.  _Usually._

While the idiots in charge may have given Jim Kirk the helm of a warmachine on a mission of peace and science, Leonard was determined to keep at least one of Jim's feet on the ground at all times, anchoring him in reality lest he drift off into space completely. For Bones, this meant habitual evening meals eaten at a table, dinner conversations, the tedium of shared chores, mindless couch cuddles, and the observation of Earth holiday traditions. All of these things were as much for him as they were for Jim.

The holiday traditions were Leonard's favorite because they reminded him of home. It was more difficult for Jim who associated the holidays of his childhood with disappointment rather than warmth and wonder. However, with Bones as his guide, he was slowly redefining the words that once triggered painful gut-reactions. Words like family, love, and holiday now made him think of Bones's warm hands and full lips, his comfort foods, and the low, soothing rumble of his voice when resting an ear on his broad chest. Of course, they also made him think of dark, kinked eyebrows, hypodermic injections, and "Dammit, Jim, what were you thinking?!"

The Easter holiday was approaching and, at Bones's behest, Jim announced to the crew that tribbles, while furry, colorful, and cute, were not suitable gifts for loved ones, children, or enemies as part of the celebration for those who observe.

It was a rare lull in excitement as they tore through space toward a distant mission. The much appreciated downtime meant longer nights and lazier mornings. It was a nice and rare dip in pace. Easter Sunday was meant to be all their own and Leonard had a nice day of silly traditions planned with lots of very un-easterly traditions in between.

He walked in to their shared space, ready to unwind his tense muscles in a hot shower and then get a meal on the table. They could talk about the plans for tomorrow. Jim surprised him by already being stationed on the couch, a colorful, woven basket perched on his slightly protruding belly, gnawing at a solid chocolate bunny with his back teeth. The ears, head, and most of the body were missing. Jim was working on the little tail.

"Dammit, Jim," Bones barked, "That was for tomorrow. How did you find it?"

Jim pulled the bunny from his lips, a line of chocolate-flavored drool connecting them still. "Bones, you hide everything in the same place every time," he explained unapologetically, "Holiday candy, birthday presents, Christmas presents, sex toys, packages, reports..."

"I get it, smartass," Bones said, snatching the basket off Jim's belly and raking his fingers through the green plastic grass. To his horror, there was nothing left. "Jim, did you eat all of this in one sitting?"

The captain patted his gut and sat up laboriously, "I guess so. It wasn't _that_  much Bones. Don't give me that look. This is the first break we've had in weeks."

"And you're going to be sick tomorrow, darlin'," Bones declared, and it wasn't the sweet version of  _darlin'_ it was the mean version, the version that punctuated something important and obvious and bad. He pulled what was left of the melting chocolate bunny from Jim's sticky fingers and carried it to the garbage with two fingers, dramatically.

"I'll be okay," Jim assured him. He survived on chocolate when he was young. It was relatively easy to steal and inconsequential. His childhood left him with an iron stomach. He could eat sugary gobs as easily as he could eat cold vegetables, soup, or beans right from a can.

Leonard looked down at Jim's chocolate-smeared face and those blue eyes graced him. Jim was thirty-six going on five. "C'mon, you're a mess, kid." He pulled Jim up by the wrist.

Jim didn't even have the decency to act embarrassed. He planted a sugary kiss on Bones, sharing the messy chocolate on his face, rubbing into the day's worth of stubble on the doctor's chin. "Don't worry, there's a whole 'nother basket of candy for tomorrow," Jim said as they headed for the shower, "I only ate yours."


End file.
